


Dock Under My Hands, Water Under My Feet

by nimiumcaelo



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash, Lazy Mornings, M/M, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 20:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimiumcaelo/pseuds/nimiumcaelo
Summary: After the talk but before the Intense Trip to the City. Dumb plot-less stuff. What if everything was good and no-one sucked? ((Besides Nick y’know heh heh get it heh))





	Dock Under My Hands, Water Under My Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my old tumblr [here](https://teaandfeelings.tumblr.com/post/158608323921/natsby-02).

Nick was sitting on his porch, eating a rather boring bowl of oatmeal and sipping some black coffee. The air was warm but not stifling and gave the surrounding area an amazing perfect-ness, as if there was nowhere in the world you’d rather be than there. Gatsby had left his house about fifteen minutes ago and Nick had watched him wander down to his dock and stand there for a while, staring out over the shifting waters. He’d thought about calling out to him, but decided against it. What would he say? What _could_  he say? He could hardly claim to know the man, and yet…

As Nick came back from clearing up his breakfast, he saw Gatsby still down on the dock. He’d sat down and had his feet dangling in the water, shoes and socks neatly placed by his side. It was a nice day, and no one would think twice about Nick going for a Sunday morning stroll. What else did people do on Sunday mornings besides go to church and sit in hot buildings with stuffy people for several hours. No, no one would question it. And he could always claim that he hadn’t noticed Gatsby as a last resort.

So he walked over there, pausing for a moment before actually stepping onto the dock. His footsteps sounded irrationally loud on the wooden planks, but were in reality mostly drowned out by the lapping waves. Nick didn’t actually tap Gatsby on the shoulder, but he almost did. Gatsby stretched his arms above his head and hit Nick’s leg. Startled, he turned around and smiled.

“Oh, hello, old sport. Lovely day today.”

“Yes.”

“I was just admiring the view off of here. You can see for miles.”

“I suppose you can.”

“Well,” huffed Gatsby as he stood up. “Fancy a trip up into town, old sport? I’ve been meaning to get something - jackets, perhaps - and I thought you’d want to come with me. Of course, if you don’t want to come, I could always send one of my people up.”

Nick smiled. “I’d rather stay here, Jay, if it’s all the same to you. I have to go up there every day for work and it’s so nice out - I’d hate to sit in the car.”

“Okay. Absolutely - what do you propose doing instead?”

“We could sit here.” Nick gestured to the end of the dock and Gatsby’s shoes. Gatsby smiled.

“Sounds good to me.”

So Gatsby sat back down on the end of the dock. Nick pulled off his shoes and socks and sat next to him. There were perhaps three or four inches between them, and Nick was careful to keep himself to himself. But was it really his fault if, while adjusting his position, he happened to press against Gatsby a little? Or, while stretching his arm, he happened to position himself so his shoulder was tucked just the slightest bit in front of Gatsby’s?

The sun shone down on them, warming their skin - the air - the water below them. The wood would soon get too hot to sit on, but for now it was pleasant just to relax there, content to forget the rest of the world. Gatsby didn’t move away, and Nick didn’t move any closer. Was it his imagination when Gatsby’s fingers bumped against his? Did it matter?


End file.
